SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition

by Akif Pirincci

  »Let’s go, come up here! The going seems to be good«, he whispered from above.

  »Slow down«, I warned. »Maybe the guy’s in there.«

  »Even better. Then he can immediately be part of a scientific experiment, which documents the effect of twenty claws on a human face!«

  He didn’t wait for an answer but jumped inside. I hesitated for a couple of moments, while I eyed the surroundings. Inside the rubber raft, which was tied to a stone, four longish wooden boxes peeped from underneath a rain blanket. Maybe these contained oxygen bottles for diving, I guessed. And maybe we did wrong by Umberto, and he wasn’t more than an obsessed nerd, who wanted to pursue his bizarre projects in complete isolation and who also enjoyed some water sports. Just a lovable weird guy. A little like Gustav. Hadn’t Sancta mentioned that he loved our kind to death? Why would he perform such bestial things? I had to follow Antonio if I wanted to find out why. In a moment of extraterrestrial braveness I did just that. I jumped onto the windowsill and rushed into the cabin.

  The first impression turned out to be like expected. I stood in the workshop of some Gyro Gearloose, where there was no hint on humane living except for a sleeper and a fridge at the age of Noah. An old-fashioned black reading light illuminated the right side of the room, which was dominated by two pasting tables. On top of these there was a sheer unbelievable clutter of electronic parts, cable reels with different colors, indefinable devices, soldering irons, meters with small black and white monitors, a real screwdriver pick-a-stick and countless manuals. Next to that gobs of boards, microprocessors, gutted video eyes and small gas bottles, everything looked like exploded and spread in chaos. Some parts cast long shadows on the wall, which even intensified the effect of this mess.

  Cautiously, I dared to enter this battlefield, always anxious to not step on something sharp with the sensitive pads of my paws. Then I jumped onto the tables and sniffed at every single exhibit. Although the first impression totally matched Sancta’s picture of a obsessed married technical nerd, and although there were no hints of bloody excesses, little by little irritating details came to light.

  Yellowed clippings, torn-out pages from pictures books and private photos were crooked at the wall with duct tape. The topic, which combined the single parts of this collage, slowly filtered through. They were shots from old paintings, which heroized the invasion of the crusaders in Jerusalem or the garden of paradise; press photos of the disastrous attack on the twin towers in New York: the hell explosion of the glass facades, people, who fell into death with struggling limbs, the crashing cathedrals of the Western world and next to that the mildly smiling faces of Osama bin Laden and other Arabian terrorists. Then again pictures with family motives: a young family with three little children in the backyard of a house with the unique Tuscan landscape of broad vineyards behind it. The same family at the beach, the kids looked a little older now, or at the fun fair. And an Italian funeral parade with a lot of pomp – and three children’s caskets. Although the unhappy father of these kids looked very young in all of these pictures and he must have aged since they were shot, I believed to know him from somewhere. I could have sworn that I had run into this man just a couple of days ago. A moment later it got happy again. An almost endless photo series showed Sancta in the most stunning poses. Sancta on pillar rudiments at the Forum Romanum, Sancta sleeping on the giant head of a statue, Sancta in front of the Temple of Saturn ...

  Suddenly I spotted a rather crinkled and brownish picture, which struck me with horror. If a lightning had shot through the window and hit me directly at the head, the effect couldn’t have been more devastating: The medical illustration showed a perfect profile of a feline inner ear. Worst of all was the many blood drops on the paper!

  »Francis!«

  I hastily turned around and tried to trace Antonio’s voice while my heart beat like a drum. At that I noticed how much had been unrevealed due to the pale light. The left part of the room was totally dark, and hadn’t I had the guiding green eyes in the distance, I would probably been lost. I jumped down the table and went to Antonio. He was also standing on a table, a table with a single broad base in the middle. The thing seemed to be metallic.

  After I had jumped on it in a single bound, I made the second terrible discovery. Underneath our paws was a little operation table with straps on its sides, which was used for operating animals. Swiveling operating lights hung above us. Next to us anesthesia – and ventilator machines, inhalation masks and a wheeled table on which several surgical instruments were lined up. There was no doubt that the reprehensible amputations had been performed here and that the obtained organs then had been manufactured into high tech products in the »electrical goods department« a few steps away. It was incredible, we had found the monster’s cave!

  But the most terrifying still waited for its discovery. Directly in front of our paws a green surgery drape seemed to cover a congener. Anxiously, I looked into Antonio’s eyes. Given this horror, these were frozen. The Oriental’s facial expression was totally numb, he didn’t even try to cover up his fright with an ironic remark like he usually did. Also, he made no move to remove the drape. In the darkness he simply sat there and breathed like someone who had shaken off worry. He even purred!

  I bit in one corner of the cloth and ripped it off ...

  Revealed was ... it was insane ... it was ridiculous ...

  There was a toy missile lying on the table! The anthracite-colored thing was only about 1.5 feet long. On its front were two tiny video eyes in the dedicated orbits, on side of the fuselage it had short, stable wings and tillers, and there were fins fixed to its rear. The whole construction looked like a military missile had shrunk to the size of children’s hands. Yet, the »brain«, which could be seen through an opened little door at the front, revealed a totally different function. This part was full of electronics. A staggering arabesque of boards, microprocessors, ultra-thin cables and blinking electroluminescent diodes hinted at the weapon’s intelligence. In all this technical clutter a feline vestibular organ was placed, which swam into a little glass ball full of nutrient solution and exchanged information with the rest of the electronics through subtle connecting wires!

  »Have you seen Sancta in the pictures, Francis?« Antonio said in a quiet voice that was almost lost in dreams and sounded like a call from a very far galaxy to me.

  »Sure«, I said. »She is in cahoots with this Umberto. She killed Samantha, so that I ...«

  »She’s so gorgeous, isn’t she? What a perfect symbol of harmony she is. The picture of Sancta has always been our ideal, when we thought about the future world. Beauty, dovishness, justice, love for life and tolerance. The ideals of ancient philosophy. The TV news speak another language though. All this scum, which they show, all the evil and the pain. During the last centuries our world has dramatically changed, Francis, and society rules – like the discrimination of race, sex and breed – are not accepted anymore. The bad genie from the bottle has vanished. The monsters of intolerance, mutual suspicion and polarization march through our streets. Dialogue is nothing more than a poor relative or terror and intimidation. These prosimians with their primitive religion, which only preaches murder, with their freaking ape culture, which only issues prohibitions and only allows being a dead man walking! Intolerance against dissidents, against women, against homosexuals and against animals. They let sheep and cattle bleed out through a cut at their throats before they eat them, did you know that? They buckle dynamite belts on donkeys, just to fire them from distance. They shit on animal rights, Francis. Samantha knew this and was pleased to offer help. And Sancta shines, she resembles our culture of soulfulness.«

  Although my fur was still soaked in the cold Tiber water, I suddenly was so hot as if someone had put me into a microwave for a moment. This whole damn workshop seemed to expand like a gum in front of my eyes, and I felt how I gradually got weak in the knees. Yet, I had the strength to remember something Sancta had mentioned casually: »... Umberto is
obsessed with our kind, and besides me he also keeps some black rascal on this site, who runs away pretty frequently though. At least, I don’t see him very often ...« The black rascal stood in front of me.

  »Whom do you mean by ›we‹, Antonio«, I wanted to know.

  »If I were George W. Bush, I’d say Western civilization, il mio amico. But I’m not George W. Bush, only a little fag who doesn’t want anything but to clear the world of intolerance once and for all.«

  »Why did you bring me here?«

  Tears flooded out of my eyes and dripped on the operating table. The world was a cesspool!

  »So that you will bring the last sacrifice, Francis. As you can imagine that such an important thing like world peace can hardly be achieved by droning Urbi et Orbi down from the benediction loggia at Easter.«

  Suddenly I felt an unyielding grasp in my neck! A hand had grabbed me and had me immobilized now. Then I was slowly picked up and got turned around in the air. I faced an old acquaintance’s flawless visage. It was the very young man of God, in whose bag I slipped in my distress at the airport, when I started on my journey to Rome. Although I really wasn’t in the mood, I couldn’t help but admire the stunning looks of this angel of death in his long cassock. The elegant hair, which was combed backwards in shiny thin flicks, the sharp facial outlines which reminded of a master painting, the delicate hands, everything on this guy redounded to heavenly perfection. He paid close attention to me though his golden glasses, and the reflexion of the silver cross around his neck blinded me so much that seemed to translucently shine at me through a halo.

  I knew this cross very well, as it was the same that the Roman macho in my dreams used to wear. This figure inspired by Antonio’s confessions had never existed though. Il mio amico had lied to me, he had never been abandoned. Quite the contrary, master and pet got along so well that it even created a deathful, extremely mysterious symbiosis. And also the other figures had never existed. The hooded guy was Umberto in a theater costume, who collected donations for his research from the theosophists at regular intervals. The hobbling priest, who had gone into the chapel with me and Miracolo to prepare the blessing ritual, was Umberto, who always had shown his back to us and had grabbed the bowel with both hands at the moment of the reputed miracle; from the gunshot wound at his right arm blood had run into the water through the sleeve. But it was also Umberto, whose family had died in the infernal assassination on 9/11 in New York and who had vowed vengeance after that.

  What this vengeance was actually supposed to be and what kind of stunts the missile on the table was able to perform, I had failed to find out. And it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to find out anymore. Adieu, you beautiful world, adieu you beautiful ears! I yelled in my mind and was close to laugh and cry at the same time. Umberto bowed out in his own way.

  »Thanks, Antonio!« he said in a mellifluous voice that what a match to his grace. Then he used his free hand to press the little anesthetic mask on my snout, which was connected to a tube and especially designed for my kind.

  15.

  When I regained conscience, I was in heaven. And this heaven looked like a church! But somehow I had always sensed that the pipe dreams of a heavenly Disneyworld, where fried pigeons fly into one’s mouth and Mercedes sport sedans grow on trees, are nothing but pipe dreams. No, when you return to God for good, you have to worship Him all day. And this works best in a church.

  Although I felt pretty dizzy – I probably still battled the aftermath of dying – I managed to pull myself together. According to old custom, I stretched myself a little and then moistened one paw to rub it over my face and behind my ears. At that I noticed with some surprise that my good old funnels were still in their place. The real ones in the living world of course had already been converted into gyrometers by Umberto, but in this pseudo-life at least I still had the illusion of ears. Without ruffle or excitement I dwelled on thoughts for a while until I finally started to suspect that this might be the afterpains of the anesthesia – and until in the distance I saw Antonio!

  Instantly I felt like I got a kiss from a power cable, and even the last remains of anesthesia deserted me at once. I turned my head and looked around nervously to find out more about my whereabouts. And then I saw it: I actually was inside of a church. But it wasn’t a heavenly church but an earthly and actually pretty big one: miraculously I had gotten to St. Peter’s Cathedral!

  The more than 160 000 square feet big site lay in the pale twilight of only a couple of torches and giant candles. It was still dark outside, and one could hear the rushing rain, only now and then interrupted by roaring thunder. Streaking thunderbolts, whose glaring light shone through the building-sized windows, enlightened a kingdom of unbelievable dimension and opulent art but also of papal vanity. It was the pomp and the glory of the Catholic Church, a baroque landscape of bold arches and superb arrangements of the folds, showroom and manifestation of faith in perfection.

  I stood in the center nave of the infinite looking room, directly in front of the pope’s altar with its almost 100 feet high brazen canopy, at which the pope occasionally consecrate priests. This baroque masterpiece, flanked by two brazen pillars, caused awe and feelings of triumph at the same time. 95 gilded oil lamps surrounded the Confessio, the subjacent room at the high altar, in which the marble statue of the kneeling Pope Pius VI. stood.

  403 feet above my head arched the dome, which had been created my Michelangelo. Four giant pentagonal pillars with a huge diameter and volume were the fundament. Above those a cylindrical attachment arose, which was broken by countless windows. The light of the thunderbolts was refracted in the glass and created bulky blocks of brightness in the darkness. In this colossal resonance chamber the thunder resounded like the hammering of a giant for a long time. From up here I could easily see the interior surface and the outer canopy. The lantern hallway was in this double hemisphere, which allowed walking around the dome.

  How much would I have enjoyed a sightseeing tour without any disturbing photoflashes of tourists. Even from this point there was already a lot to see. At the farthest end the Cathedra Petri, a giant fantasy in gilded bronze and as outsized as an upended tanker truck. On the right the grand alter of the saints Simon and Judas, on the left that of the saints Processus and Martinian. One could have spent days between those alters, marble statues, memorials, monuments, equestrian statues, baptisteries and sacrament chapels until one – turned into an angel – ascended to the dome and through this directly to Catholic heaven.

  But unfortunately there was more pressing concerns right now. The main door with its giant brazen gate built by Filarete was closed. Apparently all guards had been sent home and one had made sure not to be disturbed tonight. At the end of the center nave Antonio sat on his rear legs and watched me with his turquoise emerald eyes. He was only a small shadow in the distance but I noticed him immediately. He somehow appeared to be down. Next to him his master Umberto stood in his black priest’s robe, whom he was connected to by a fateful affection and the same view at the world. The man looked pretty pale. His bullet wounds probably still bothered him. Cattycorner the rough older man with the snow-white hair showed up, whom I had seen talking to my reputed Samaritan two days ago at the airport. Back then I had wondered about the military insignia on his lapel. Now I realized that he was a general of the US Army. The talk between the two men of different professions, which I had kind of overheard, had been about an event at some church. Now I was even allowed to attend this secret meeting!

  Umberto also had brought a toy: the miniature missile. It was put on a small ramp, and pointed at the vast of the church. A few feet away I saw a laptop, which was very obviously the commander of the high tech device. The padre began to speak now, and thanks to my uber-ears I was able to hear every single word despite the distance.

  »You know what this house of God means to me«, he said in his angelic voice to the military, who was dressed in the finest English tweed. »And exactly for this reason I have inv
ited you here for a test screening of Miracolo. If I weren’t confident, I hadn’t done this. Because if this holy house or one of its artworks were hurt by just a single scratch, I would never forgive myself. Even more, being security chief I would hold myself accountable. I wouldn’t be ruined in an earthly view, as I don’t have any property and will therefore give this prototype to your government without rewards, but at this place there is a downfall beyond monetary considerations.«

  Umberto, the handsome guy, turned away and began to wander around with his head bowed. He seemed incredibly tired, just as if he had been forced to bear an incubus for years.

  »Miracolo is a self-regulated missile with a usual warhead. Just that he isn’t just capable of destroying espied buildings and sites, but ...«

  He paused meaningfully and freakishly smiled at himself.

  »... but people it knows. He can be fed with a certain person’s biometrical data – even a newspaper picture will do –, and its ready for hunting. This technology is neither new nor unique. I guess your cruise-missiles theoretically also are able to perform such missions, at least in open country. The problem starts when it comes to maneuverability of the self-regulated missile in a localized manner – and by that I mean a radius of less than 7 feet! A self-regulated rocket is able to turn around corners and blocks and then destroy the prescribed building but it is not capable of dashing through a door independently, flying upstairs and from room to room and eventually hitting the target on the toilet without causing any damage. Why? Because they don’t have a real balance system and because of that no real sense of balance! It is and will remain an inflexible missile, a bullet with a little bit of accountability, nothing more. Miracolo is the opposite!«